Star Wars: The Suns of Alia
by Micah Z'Dar
Summary: A Star Wars fanfiction where a bounty hunter, a force user, and an imperial commando team up to find a Sith grimoire.
1. Chapter 1: Dogfight

Salas was just outside of Hutt space, somewhere near the Abyss of Sacred Flames, when _Megiddo _picked up the pirates on her rear scopes.

Salas grinned wickedly, they had no idea who they were messing with. He waited patiently as they closed the distance, no doubt thinking that his utility shuttle would be an easy target. The scum had been hiding inside of a small cluster of rocky asteroids. It was a trick that he had seen before.

His forward viewport was dominated by the purple light of a nebula, which from this angle looked ragged and misshapen. The area's starfield was bright and colorful. In one direction he saw azure crosses surrounded by crimson auras, in another a band of white dots, and in another a mix of green and blue flics. The storms of a distant gas giant were still visible, despite the fact that at this range the planet itself was smaller than a fist.

They were in laser range now, but they didn't fire. This meant that they were disciplined; they would benefit from waiting till they were closer, so they held their fire. Salas checked his targeting system, examining the hostile craft. They were a group of six Z-95 Headhunters. No two of them looked quite the same, each having been heavily modified and subjected to years of extensive Jerry rigging.

_Megiddo's _cockpit was as much a living space as the place from were the ship was piloted. The factory set up was functional and minimalist. Salas had made a few additions, some of them purely utilitarian, others would hardly be considered professional. But it was his space, his home, he would do what he wanted with it.

He reached up, flipping open a hidden panel, revealing a bank of buttons and switches. He flipped a bright red switch, a set of hidden doors located under the ship's nose opened, the pair of laser cannons that they concealed powered up.

He turned, doing a quick one-eighty, something that a shuttle wasn't supposed to be able to do. _Megiddo _could do a lot of things that a simple civilian shuttle wasn't supposed to be able to do. One of them was be armed. A targeting reticle had appeared in the center of his front view port. He placed it on one of them and squeezed the trigger on his joystick. The cannons fired, pulses of red light raced at the Z-95.

The ship's shields failed; the next hit punched through the cockpit's canopy. Salas set his guns to chain fire and switched targets. The barrage of laser fire quickly overwhelmed the Headhunter's shields, before making short work of the hull.

The enemy squadron broke up, scattering in different directions. Salas picked what experience told him was their leader. In his panic the pilot had made the grave mistake of presenting Salas with the side profile of his fighter. Salas didn't hesitate for an instant, his training took over as he lined up a shot, automatically leading the target to account for its forward movement. The flaming remains of the craft screamed through the void. Salas picked the closest target and maneuvered toward it.

He set his cannons to linked fire. This wasn't his first time engaging pirates, and it sure as hell wasn't his first time destroying them. He tried to stay focused on the task at hand, as he got on the tail of the raider and started taking potshots. His first assignment as an imperial Tie Fighter pilot had been uneventful. He had spent six long months stationed on an out of the way orbital platform, only exiting the station's hanger to conduct close range sensor inspections on cargo ships and passenger vessels. He spent most of his off time in the simulator, lusting after a combat mission.

But it was his next tour of duty that he had the fondest memories of. He was astonished when they handed him a shiny new Tie Interceptor and a position in Hellcat Squadron, assigned to Task Force Annihilator, a small fleet that was organized to hunt down and destroy pirates.

They must have been impressed with his simulator scores.

His unit was a fast moving, hard hitting group. _Assassin_-class corvettes, Skipray Blastboats, and Assault Transports for conducting boarding operations. All of them organized around a _Suspiria_-class Star Destroyer, which was a faster and more heavily armed and armored successor to the Interdictor Cruiser.

The eager young pilot had eliminated Z-95s, Clone Wars era Y-wings, and a few of the craft that were colloquially known as Uglies. The dogfights tended to be one sided, with a few exceptions here and there.

The Headhunter's engines exploded. The pilot ejected. Scratch another pirate.

A streak of red light passed by his left viewport. The two remaining Z-95s were on his tail, too bad they hadn't been just a bit faster; they could have saved their friend. Salas set his shields to double rear and vectored toward the group of asteroids.

_Megiddo _weaved and jinked around, throwing off the aim of her pursuers. But they did manage to score a few grazing hits. A regular ship of that kind would be in trouble, but Salas had sacrificed a good chunk of the vessel's cargo space for a better shield system and a higher quality reactor to feed power to it.

_Megiddo _entered the field, weaving her way through the rocks. The pirates followed, taking the occasional shot, many of which clipped the asteroids. _Megiddo_ swooped under one of the larger rocks and shot out of the other side. The Z-95s copied his move, exiting the field via the same route as him. Salas was a step ahead of them, he knew exactly where they would be. He had performed a quick Immelmann turn, now they were in his gunsights.

The first shot went wide, but he quickly corrected, the target didn't last long. The other Headhunter scored his own hits, lowering _Megiddo's_ shields to uncomfortable levels. Salas fired a few more shots, what was left of the last Z-95's fuselage screamed past his viewport, burning and covered in arcs of electricity.

A new ship appeared on his sensors. He made a note of the general area, as this was where he would find the hollowed-out asteroid that contained their hidden base. Salas targeted the vessel, it was a _Delta_-class Escort Shuttle. He knew the craft well. It was a bigger and tougher version of the standard Imperial shuttle, its heavy cannons and rear facing turret were a major threat. It set its engines to full throttle and pointed its nose at _Megiddo._

Salas knew that he was in trouble. His ship's shields were at dangerous levels and that Escort Shuttle had him outgunned, and it could take a hell of a beating. But it was okay, he was used to not having any shields at all. Salas only had one chance, that would be to outmaneuver the pirate. He headed back into the asteroids.

The former Tie pilot vectored around the hostile craft, hoping to attack the ship from an angle where it couldn't return fire. The enemy pilot saw what he was going to do, always turning to either present his mighty cannons or the nasty looking gun turret. They ended up moving parallel to each other. Neither of them could get a lock with their front mounted weapons, and the deadly turret couldn't quite line up a shot.

Salas checked the scanner, seeing an opportunity. He darted toward the pirate ship, it reflexively moved away, directly into the path of a large rock. The enemy pilot spotted the asteroid, diving steeply to avoid it. He was a bit too late; the impact drained his shields and sheered the massive dorsal fin completely off.

Salas swooped in for the kill, lighting up the rear mounted turret before the gunner could recover from the shock of the collision. The viewport shattered, the systems that powered the guns exploded, the weapon's enormous barrels came lose and were left behind.

The Escort Shuttle tried to evade, but Salas was glued to his tail. He used his targeting computer to match the enemy's speed, then he started blasting the engines to pieces. The target's hull integrity failed, the flaming wreckage struck an asteroid and shattered into a thousand pieces.

Salas took a minute to catch his breath, let his shields recharge a bit. After the break he maneuvered toward the rock that he had marked as being the pirates' base. He set his power system to focus on recharging his guns. Then he started blasting the asteroid. Chunks of smoldering debris and globs of lava were blasted off of its rocky surface.

A hidden turbolaser turret popped out of a crater. Salas was ready for it, he blasted it to pieces before it had finished swiveling around to face him.

A message came in on a general frequency, "Please stop! We will pay you!" The voice sounded desperate.

"I am a slaver," Salas lied, "How many prisoners do you have?"

"We don't have any prisoners!" the voice said, sounding truly pathetic.

Salas kept blasting, "Oh good. I don't have to worry about harming any innocents," he said flatly. His attacks must have hit something important, because an explosion threw boulders up and out into space. One of the massive rocks struck another asteroid, creating a cloud of dust that rolled across its surface.

Another message came in, "Please! We don't have any evacuation craft!"

Salas smirked, "Well, this just goes to show you that safety regulations exist for a reason."

Secondary explosions were ravaging the base. The doors that concealed the hanger bay were blasted off of their rails and propelled out into space. The bay itself was covered in flames, fuel stores and munitions were exploding.

He left the field, setting course for the trio of stars known as the Alia group, the last known position of his bounty.


	2. Chapter 2: The City and Its Wonders

The city was a confusing jumble of buildings and tangled, narrow streets. To the east, a twisted cluster of crystalline structures spiraled up high into the sky. To the west, there were the high towers of a fortress, massive Imperial banners hanging proudly from its ramparts. Both of these structures loomed over the town, seeming to pin it into place.

It was late. Several moons were visible, many were just little pale dots, one was a big yellow crescent. The purple nebula looked like a gruesome laceration. Local legends said that some eldritch being had torn the fabric of space open, it certainly looked like it. This nebula drowned out the light from most of the stars. The only ones that stood out were the two other suns in the Alia stellar cluster. The ominous lights of an orbiting Star Destroyer were visible.

Tauira turned onto a main thoroughfare. The weight of the weapons that sat on her hips comforted her. The plain grey cloak that she was wearing kept them hidden. The hood was up, more to keep the brisk air at bay than to help conceal her identity.

The streets were packed. The crowd was a menagerie of weird aliens and strange people from all over the galaxy. A male Twi'lek looked around suspiciously, his beady eyes scanning the throngs of strange beings. A group of Aqualish were hanging out near the entrance to a shop, light reflecting off of their eyes. A Trandoshan was arguing with a Quarren, complaining about prices or maybe payments, it was difficult to tell. A team of Stormtroopers marched past, putting on a display of authority, letting everyone know who was in charge.

The tourists were here to see the twisting crystal spires. The salesmen were here to sell sinful drinks, yummy food, and cheap junk to the tourists. The criminals were here to prey on the tourists. The empire was here to collect taxes.

The horde moved in packs of laughing friends or as frowning individuals. Jokes were told, greetings were shouted, and threats were made in a hundred different languages. Kiosks and beggars lined the sidewalks. Janitorial droids picked up trash, a lot of negative things could be said about the city, but at least they kept the place clean.

The sensation of the Force was heavy, thick, oppressive. The life forces of thousands of beings were jumbled together so that focusing on a single person took concentration and skill. She passed a night club, it looked and sounded like a wild place. The emotions of the building's occupants hit her awareness like waves of depravity, making vows against wanton behavior feel more immediate and burdensome. Intense feelings of fear and anticipation were being emitted from the northeast side of the town; something was going to happen over there. _As long as it stays over there,_ she thought to herself.

This was where her training really paid off. If she had tried to walk through a city prior to her lessons on control and filtering she would have gone crazy. She knew this because she had been the victim of her powers many times before.

Back then she would have tried to suppress her ability. Now, she embraced it, intentionally stretching her awareness out. Joy, sadness, anger, fear, lust, and greed were emitted in hard pulses and steady streams. The feelings mixed and mingled, creating a lightshow or perhaps a song that existed on a spectrum that the majority of beings were incapable of perceiving.

Her thoughts turned to her mission. The Sith holocron would be expensive, more than the cost of several decent sized starships, but securing it would be more than worth the price. This was her first solo run, she was anxious, what if she messed up?

Tauira willed the thought away. She had been trained to control her emotions and work toward eliminating her flaws. But then she realized that she had failed to do this, the very fact that she was still unsure of herself was a failure in itself.

_I should have gotten over this a long time ago. _The thought was like a sickness in her mind. It threatened to turn into an endless cycle of bottomless regret. She would get trapped for hours, maybe days, stuck in a feedback loop of misery.

As she continued to move deeper into the city's entertainment district the electric discharges of the area's passions became brighter and more frequent, stabbing deep into her consciousness. Tuning the madness out took effort, seeing past it to keep an eye on what was brewing in the northeast became more difficult, so did using her powers to watch her back.

Tauira turned onto a side street, the canteen where she was supposed to meet her contact was close. She stepped off to the side and pulled out her datapad, pretending to read it. With her eyes she scanned the area, checking for lookouts, guards, anything that could be a threat. She did the same using the Force.

Nothing out of the ordinary, if this was a trap it was a well-hidden one. She put the tablet back into its pocket and started to step forward. That was when she heard the first explosion.


	3. Chapter 3: The Raid

The shaped charge detonated, the system in his helmet softening the sound of the blast. With flawless timing, Sergeant Narlüg and the other three Storm Commandos rappelled into the newly made hole.

They spotted targets as they descended, opening fire the second that they hit the floor. The terrorists were surprised by the sudden attack and stunned by the explosion, they didn't stand a chance. All of the hostiles were eliminated, none of them had so much as drawn a weapon.

Commander Varlon covered them while they reloaded and detached the rappelling lines. Then the commander did the same, "Sergeant Garlüg, take point," he growled into his helmet's communicator.

"Yes, Sir," Narlüg automatically said. He stood up, the buttstock of his blaster pressed tight against his shoulder. They walked past the bodies, the impact sights still smoldered and smoked. He felt no remorse, these people were terrorists, after all. They hadn't showed the innocent people in that education center any mercy. So what if they were teaching proto-military topics to younglings, that was no reason to bomb the place!

He entered the next room, looking down the scope, clearing the corners with its reticle, the others did the same. The team was operating on a whole other level, they wasted no movement, they acted in perfect unison, with flawless precision, left nothing to chance. Years of constant training had gotten them to this point; suffering, discipline, and sacrifice had sharpened them. Their matte black armor looked like that of a Scout Trooper, but it was very different from those suits.

A man in plain civilian clothes came barreling around a corner. He was rushing to deal with what he thought was an accident, a fire extinguisher in his hands, rather than a weapon. The man saw them, his eyes went wide and his mouth opened, he droped the extinguisher, made a move for his sidearm.

Sergeant Narlüg switched his weapon to stun, the ring of blue energy struck the target's chest. The man fell to the ground, Narlüg moved toward him, pulling out a roll of engine tape.

While this was all happening, the squad made their way around the two of them, taking positions in whatever cover was available. Sergeant Narlüg quickly and efficiently secured the man, before conducting a pat down search for weapons. He found a simple knife, which he tossed behind a piece of equipment that was attached to the wall. He rejoined the others, taking point once again.

They moved on, pushing toward what the intel guys believed was the command center. This time it would be different, this time they wouldn't escape, this time they would be the ones that were under attack.

The commandos rounded a corner; a teammate fired a short burst into a someone that was scrambling to load a rapid-fire blaster rifle. Another commando took his combat knife to a terrorist that had his back to them, busy fiddling with a fire extinguisher. Another room was cleared, on to the next, which was their target.

The squad was prepared, their weapons ready, their minds focused. The terrorists were caught in the open, they fired wildly as they dove for cover. Narlüg recognized a wide variety of blasters: the big old DL-44 hand cannons, the all too common DH-17, and even a pitiful little target pistol.

With calm precision, Sergeant Narlüg took aim. He squeezed the trigger, dropping one of them. He lined up another shot, taking out another terrorist. One of them jumped out of cover and bolted across the room, moving to flank. Narlüg fired, the terrorist fell, spraying as he went, lasers blasting chunks out of the walls.

A terrorist took aim, a blast bolt struck Sergeant Narlüg's shoulder, the impact throwing him off balance. The armor's special coating absorbed the majority of the energy, but he could still feel his flesh cooking. He ignored the pain and horror, taking aim once again.

One of them was blindly firing an E11 over the top of the terminal that he had taken cover behind. "Grenade out," Sergeant Yor shouted as he tossed a Thermal Detonator over the obstacle. The enemy jumped up, but he wasn't fast enough, he caught the full force of the explosion.

"Clear," the squad leader called out. They got up, moving deeper into the room, checking corners, and making sure that the dead were really dead. As they cleared the room updates from the other squads came in. They were inside the building now, taking room after room, winning one firefight after another. The sound of a few blasts and an explosion echoed through the corridors from some other section of the base. The enemy was trying to escape and had run into opposition. He pictured them, the gleaming white armor of a Stormtrooper was such a glorious sight. The regular troops had been waiting, hiding until the commandos had infiltrated the terrorists' lair. When the attack started, they moved in to set up a cordon around the building. Now they were tightening the noose.

Sergeant Narlüg checked one of the fallen enemies, examining his face. It was strange, the Imperials were, for the most part, faceless. That had been one of the things that had first drawn him in, gotten him hooked on the holovids and collecting the toy models. The idea of ceasing to be himself and becoming a part of something greater. That, and the aesthetic that the Empire carefully cultivated.

He had gone from basic training to the esteemed ranks of the Stormtrooper Corps, from there he had distinguished himself during the occupation of a newly conquered world. This had earned him a spot in commando selection. It had been a living hell, but he had survived and earned his place among the elite.

"Nine o'clock!" one of his teammates yelled. They swiveled around, taking cover, one of them automatically took a position where he could watch the rear of the formation. Several terrorists bolted into the room, no doubt fleeing from the other squads. They were above the Imperials, standing on top of a catwalk.

The terrorists looked down in horror at the grim aftermath of the battle in the command center, before opening up on the Imperials. The enemy sprayed from the hip, the commandos fired in short, controlled bursts. A stray round blew out a computer screen that was near Commander Varlon's head, sending half-melted glass flying. He returned fire, the terrorist tumbled over the railing.

Sergeant Narlüg had drained the power from his weapon's battery, with the grace and fluidity of movement that only methodic repetition can bring he ejected the magazine and grabbed another from off of his vest. One of them drew a blade and leaped over the railing. Sergeant Narlüg reached for his sidearm, but the man landed on top of him before he could draw the pistol.

The terrorist pushed down with all of his weight and strength, everything that he could muster was focused onto the tip of his blade. Sergeant Narlüg pushed back, desperately trying to get into a better position, the blade moving closer and closer to his throat.

There was a flash of light and heat, the terrorist stopped moving and was easily pushed aside. Narlüg looked over, seeing Sergeant Korova aiming his weapon in his direction. The two of them pointed their weapons at the catwalk again, but they saw no movement or muzzle flashes, the firefight was over.

Korova walked over to the body that lay next to Narlüg, "I guess that he thought he was a hero," he said mockingly.

"Thanks, I owe you one," Narlüg said.

Sergeant Korova nodded, "Buy me a drink later. We are going to have a hell of a celebration tonight!"

The other squads reported in, all goals had been completed, all target areas captured. A Stormtrooper that sported an orange pauldron entered the room and approached them. "Orders, Sir?"

"There is a bound prisoner near our entry site, see to it that he is secured and taken to the fortress. Bring in a scanning crew to check for hidden booby traps and doorways."

"Right away, Sir!" the trooper said before marching away.

He turned to Sergeant Narlüg, "Head outside and find a medic for your arm. You did good today," the commander glanced at the others, "You all did good. We brought justice to these murderers and stopped them from hurting anyone else."

Narlüg did as ordered, heading swiftly for the exit. The halls of the building were controlled chaos. Troopers moved around in a rush, their boots making a racket as they stomped along the corridors. That armor had been a big part of why he had enlisted. He had wanted to wear that neat looking suit of armor, to be something more than himself, to be intimidating. To be something more than himself, or to be something other than himself?

His thoughts turned to his early days in the military. The hell that was basic training and then that long tour on that hostile world. He had served with distinction, exercised while the others played, stayed and fought when others had retreated. That was why he was in the special forces. He was proud to be in the commandos, but a part of him longed for the much easier and simpler days as a part of a garrison.

Vehicles were parked outside the building. A few AT-STs and a platoon of hover tanks were providing a cordon, keeping out nosy people and guarding against a counterattack. Troop transports and cargo vehicles were standing by.

Sergeant Narlüg found the APC that had been turned into a combat ready ambulance. He looked on as the medic removed the shoulder plate and examined the wound. The body glove had been melted, it was heat resistant, but everything has its limit. The medic carefully cut away the material; the skin underneath it was reddened and covered in blisters. It hurt more as a local anesthetic was applied, but the pain quickly subsided.

"It isn't so bad, a little Bacta will take care of it," the medic reassured him. Good, the injury wouldn't hurt his career.

The medic placed a dressing on the wound. Then he left to see to a Scout Trooper that had sprained a leg climbing down from his sniper position.

Sergeant Narlüg did his best to relax. A few locals dared to peek out of their third story window, staring at the troops and vehicles below. Once again, he was glad that he had the helmet. Many troopers saw it as a burden, but to him it was a blessing. It made things private, made him feel more like he was a part of the group, and besides, he had never cared much for how is face looked.

The com chatter was heavy, reports were being submitted, the search of the terrorists' base was well underway. The body count came in, thirty-six terrorists eliminated, along with one prisoner captured. The results were better than they had hoped. Intel said that the cell was about thirty, so it was likely that none had managed to slip away.

He had messed up back there, let that guy put him in a vulnerable position. But other than that, he had done good, the commander had said so. But was he just being sarcastic?

_No. Don't think like that, you are one of the elite._

Sergeant Narlüg looked up, seeing the triangular shape of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer. Was there anything more inspiring?


	4. Chapter 4: On the Trail

Salas examined the town as _Megiddo _descended. The city itself wasn't any big deal. Not as crazy as Nar Shaddaa or as grand as Coruscant. It was mediocre, boring. He had seen so many things in his travels across the galaxy, it was difficult for him to understand why people would bother going there.

But the crystal spires were beautiful. They came in different colors. One that was located to the northeast of the town was green with black veins. The spire that the city was built next to was purple, at certain angles and light levels you could see highlights of red and gold. The crystals twisted and turned, looping around on each other until they reached high up into the sky.

The local garrison was conducting some kind of military operation on the northeastern side. Salas began to wonder if he should hold off for a little bit. He quickly decided that the bounty was well worth any risks.

Salas completed the landing sequence. The fee was more than usual, which was to be expected in such a place. He could have picked a cheaper landing bay, but that would put him further out. He didn't pay for the closer spot out of laziness, he picked it in case he needed to quickly get to his ship.

The ship's nav computer had a brief file on the place, politely painting it as a hub for people who wanted to see the planet's magnificent crystal spires. But as he walked the streets, Salas became increasingly aware that it was just another tourist trap.

He didn't know the exact location of his target. All he had was a name and the fact that his last known destination was this city. But that was fine. He would go to the place where you always go to get information, the cantina.

The place was surprisingly clean and orderly. It somehow seemed wrong, such an establishment should be dirty, seedy, a bit dangerous. This saloon was kept nice so that the tourists wouldn't get scared away.

A humanoid droid, its casing immaculate white, was manning the bar. This was a good sign, droids didn't get suspicious when you asked strange questions. Salas took a seat and the droid asked him what he wanted.

"A juri juice, please."

"Excellence choice, sir."

"Say, I am looking for a friend. Maybe you can help me find him."

"Certainly, sir."

"His name is Dirk Guudgai," well, that probably wasn't his real name, but it was the name that he was currently using.

"Ah, yes. He was in here eating dinner."

"Oh, really? Can you tell me where he went?"

"I am afraid that I can't, sir," the robot adopted a prideful tone, "He did mention that our food is much better than what is served at his hotel."

The droid thought that it was being helpful, but it wasn't. This was a tourist trap, there must be a hundred hotels. "You don't happen to know which one?" he asked, struggling to stay cheery.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. Mr. Guudgai must be a popular man. You are the second person that has asked about him."

This wasn't good. It could be another bounty hunter or any number of other things that would complicate the situation. He asked the droid for a description.

"A young human woman, wearing a grey robe. She had darker skin, black hair, green eyes."

"Did she say why she wanted to see him?"

"Yes, he was supposed to meet her here."

"Thank you. You have been a big help."

"You're welcome, sir. I am overjoyed to hear it!"

Salas finished his drink and left. The description didn't match anyone that he knew, but it was a big galaxy and there were a lot of people in it. He would have to keep an eye out for her. She could be a threat, she could also just be a jealous ex or something like that.

Salas scanned the buildings, so many hotels, where to start? The target had mentioned that his hotel had bad food. Was he just being polite? Certainly not to a droid. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Salas walked over to an information terminal and found the menu for the area's eateries. After a few minutes he had a list of one- and two-star reviews. He picked the closest place first. The sign out front was bright and gaudy. The rest of the structure was far plainer, sporting a basic layout.

He entered the building, approached the receptionist's desk. She was a yellow skinned Twi'lek. The woman looked tired, as if the weight of dealing with tourists all day had drained her. But it wasn't just physical fatigue, it looked like it went a step beyond that, like she had been spiritually depleted by all of the time spent dealing with the hotel and its nonsense.

The Twi'lek mustered a tiny smile, "How can I help you?"

"Yes, I have a question."

"Anything to help, sir."

"Are the Gamorreans that are staying on the top floor supposed to be using the balcony as a latrine?"

She went wide eyed, her mouth fell open, "What?"

"Oh, well I guess that I kind of said that wrong."

"Oh good," she said, looking very relieved.

"Ya, the way I said it, I made it sound like they were going on the balcony. But what I meant to say was that they were going off of the balcony."

Her face became horrified again, "Off of the balcony?"

"Well, to be fair, I think that most of it is landing in the pool," he reassured her.

"Excuse me, sir!" she said as she tore out of the room, heading for the nearest bank of elevators.

Salas was glad that she was gone, because he had been close to cracking up. He laughed like a madman as he slipped behind the counter and accessed the terminal. A quick check of the names showed that he wasn't staying there, at least not by his real name. He did a few more searches, looking for suspicious names or credentials that looked sketchy. Nothing.

The woman would return soon, at best, she would be upset that Salas had played a prank on her. He jogged toward the exit, near the doors he saw it, a figure duck out of sight. No time to investigate, no time to see if it was just his imagination.

Three hotels later the receptionist was sprinting toward the elevator. The Triple Sun Inn, Salas thought that the name sounded a little clumsy. The place's appearance matched the rating of its restaurant, one-star.

Salas hopped over the counter and took a seat in front of the computer system. To his surprise, the name was right there at the top. Guudgai. Dirk. Room 609. Current room service charge: none.

"Found 'em" Salas blurted out.

To his surprise, a voice answered him, "Did you find Dirk?"

He popped up out of the chair, pulled his blaster, and swiveled around to see a woman that matched the description that the droid had given him.


	5. Chapter 5: Interrogation

Chapter 5: Interrogation

Sergeant Narlüg entered the fortress's cell block. The terrible screams that came from the interrogation room were difficult to tune out.

The follow up with the base's medic had been long and drawn out, a feeling of immense relief had washed over him when he left the med section. Now covered in a bandage, his wound was numb, slathered in pain killers and anti-septic gel.

He entered the chamber, mentally preparing himself first.

The terrorist was locked into a purpose-built chair. Several non-stop hours of interrogation left the man ragged. This process had been both physical and mental. Pain was administered, the subject was questioned and threatened. This would be repeated until the interrogator got the information that they needed, or the subject died.

Intel had identified the man. He was a drifter, wanted in several systems. How or why he had fallen in with such a group was still a mystery. Maybe he didn't even know; maybe he had just woken up one day to find that he was a murderer.

Sergeant Korova was leaning against a wall, his arms crossed, watching the spectacle through the optic systems in this helmet. He spotted Narlüg, nodded, switched over to his communication frequency, "How's the arm?" he asked, somewhere between teasing and genuine concern.

"It's fine."

"You missed a nice show."

"I don't see it that way. This is just another unpleasant task, a necessary evil."

"Na, I like seeing him squirm. After what those guys did, I can take comfort in it."

"Maybe you're right."

He sighed, "I guess that at some point we end up sinking to their level, making the whole thing completely meaningless. But I think that we are still a long way off."

Commander Varlon towered over the terrorist, "Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because if you don't have anything useful to tell me, then I don't see any reason to let you live."

A look of resignation crossed his face, "We were in contact with the alliance."

"Interesting," Varlon purred, "Tell me more."

"We met with a representative."

"Give me a name."

"I don't know his name. I was told to follow him back to his hotel."

"Which hotel?"

"The Triple Sun Inn."

"If you are telling me the truth, I will send you to a nice, easy prison. If you are lying to me, I will keep you here until you give me the right name. Then you will go to the spice mines."

He spent the next few minutes getting a detailed description of the supposed rebel.

"What do you think?" Korova asked.

"I think that he is full of it," Narlüg declared.

"That is the downside, they will say anything to stop the pain. Hell, they will even confess to crimes that they didn't commit."

He decided to change the subject, "Where do you want to go for that drink that I owe you?"

"I'm thinking that place over on Sixth and Crystal Way."

"The one where all of those Zabrak girls hang out?" he smiled in spite of himself, "I should have known."

Korova chuckled, producing a strange sound as it passed through his helmet, "What? I like 'em feisty."

It was Narlüg's turn to chuckle, "Your love of dangerous women will be the death of you."

"Remember that assassin we worked with on Yargarth III? Man, she was something else," the trooper reminisced.

"How could I forget," he replied, painfully aware of how jealous Korova would be if he found out about their rendezvous in a secluded maintenance area.

Sergeant Yor entered the interrogation room. He walked with even more swagger than normal, which was an accomplishment. His backwater accent fought against the distortion of the helmet, "He get anything out of 'em yet?"

It was Korova that answered him, "Ya, he is just finishing up now."

"I grilled a rebel on Bork Prime. Got 'em to talk in under five minutes, new base record."

"Really," Korova said, making no effort to hide his frustration, "Is that the same unit where you got the top score at the target range?"

Yor didn't pick up on Korova's attitude, "The very same."

The prisoner let out a scream, Narlüg focused on Yor, "Got my arm patched up, doc gave me a piece of candy for being brave," this statement caused Korova to giggle.

Yor failed to notice Narlüg's sarcasm, "One time I broke my leg. Went through a whole training exercise without getting treatment."

Commander Varlon walked over to them, "We need to plan an extraction mission. We're going to hit that hotel."

Korova uncrossed his arms, "Easy, we post the same storm unit as last time on cordon. Have a ship drop us on the roof, work our way down, clear the place from top to bottom."

"Sounds like a plan. Narlüg, head to the barracks, pick out a squad to go in with us."

He acknowledged the order, quickly left the detention area, leaving the other commandos to sort out the remaining details. He went over it in his mind, glad to have a distraction. Which stormtrooper squad would be the best? Marksmanship scores and efficiency ratings were compared as he entered an elevator. By the time he reached the barracks he had picked out Bravo squad.

He entered the living area. Troopers were lounging around. Barracks rooms were always odd places. This was where faceless men removed their helmets, becoming human beings again. They had taped posters to the doors of their wall lockers: the images ranged from depictions of the empire's glory, to attractive women, to simple distractions from military life.

The smell of cleaning supplies managed to make it through the helmet's filter. Memories flooded back. The fear of failure interrupted by sharp points of shame and joy. That guy that tried to escape the training base, and the patrol troopers had dragged him back, literally kicking and screaming. That time that his friend had rode a floor buffing droid, went flying off like a ragdoll.

Someone called them to attention. Making a show out of scanning the group, he was glad that his helmet hid his sour expression and dread. This sort of thing wasn't his strong suit.

Sergeant Narlüg summoned all of his willpower, "We have a new mission. Bravo squad, you're with me. Everyone else, get ready for a cordon operation," then he switched to a harsher tone in a bid to motivate them, "We are going to catch ourselves a rebel."


End file.
